Too Close
by bananaquit
Summary: When work on the portal turns into something a little more than math, Fiddleford wants Stanford to forget the events that transpire. Ford wants the opposite.


Ford glanced up from his work as his assistant rolled up his swivel chair next to him. He smiled as Fiddleford propped an elbow on the table and put his face in his hand.

"How's it coming?" The lighter-haired man asked, staring contentedly at Ford with half-lidded eyes.

Ford set down his pencil and adjusted his glasses, grinning. "Excellent. We're actually ahead of schedule." he replied. "I've just finished the calculations for the dimension of the portal aperture. I'll have to have you check it over, of course." Fiddleford took the papers in his hands. He clicked his tongue and scribbled something down. His friend watched him write for a few minutes.

"At this diameter, the activation force will crush the surrounding steel." Fidds spoke, tipping a pencil toward him. "The entire frame will implode." Ford looked at the spot he was pointing to and reached out to take the papers back. Their hands brushed. Eyes met and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. For just a second, he was in a different reality. Just as quickly, the world went back to the way it was.

"Really?" Stanford glanced over the calculations. "Show me why." He set the paper on the table and looked at his old roommate expectantly, as if awaiting an explanation. He already understood why, of course. Fiddleford's work was as simple and clear as always. But playing dumb meant he got to spend a little longer a little closer to him. It was selfish, but his doubts dissolved as the two leaned their heads together and Fiddleford began pointing and explaining his math. Ford could smell the ink on his hands and the tobacco in his teeth, feel the warmth of his breath just inches from his own. Being this close… It was too much. He was going to do something stupid if he didn't stop himself. Ford leaned back, bumping Fidds' elbow with his arm. "Sorry." he muttered, cheeks hot.

"It's alright." Fiddleford responded, looking over at him. Ford must've looked as flustered as he felt, since Fidds quirked a brow in slight confusion. Then his face changed to an expression of… What was it? Understanding? Satisfaction? "Hey, Ford…?"

He couldn't even speak, just swallow and clench his fists. He tried to talk, but only a shallow breath escaped. And then Fiddleford was leaning toward him. He felt a soft hand on the side of his face and hair tickle his forehead. Then Fiddleford's mouth was on his, gentle and warm. It was so surreal that he could hardly believe it wasn't a dream. Their lips lingered together for a number of seconds before Fidds pulled away. It was over far too soon. Ford looked down at this hands, giving an awkward cough and trying to hide the fact that his entire face was flushed with reddish-pink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man reach inside his lab coat.

"I'm so sorry, Stanford." Fiddleford whispered. Ford glanced up, eyes widening in fear once he saw what was in his hand.

The memory gun. The memory gun that was supposed to have been _destroyed_.

" _Fiddleford, no!_ " he yelled. There was no time to think. Fiddleford started to bring the weapon into position to aim at his head, but Ford was faster. He grabbed his friend's wrist and shoved the arm holding the gun away from him. They both stumbled to their feet. Ford made a grab for the gun with his other hand, but his assistant forced a hand between their chests and pushed him away. Still, Ford refused to let go. Fiddleford tried in vain to back away, but tripped over one of the wheels of a chair and was sent toppling backwards, bringing Ford down with him. As the southerner reached back to catch himself, his invention flew out of his hand and landed a few feet away. Fiddleford managed to put his hands behind him so he didn't hit his head. He immediately shrank onto the ground as Ford started to come down on top of him. Luckily, Ford planted his hands on the ground and caught himself before he could crush Fiddleford, his arms taking much of the shock from the fall. Fiddleford was left laying on the ground with Stanford above him, one arm and one leg on either side of his body. He was effectively trapped underneath. Ford grabbed his wrist again and pinned the arm closest to the gun tightly against the ground, preventing him from reaching the device.

Fiddleford stared up at him with wide eyes, breathing heavily. Ford wanted to be mad at him. But he wasn't sure if the pounding of his heart was due to the adrenaline or something else entirely. He was still so flustered from the kiss and they were so close again and he just looked so _vulnerable_ there beneath him… He brought his free hand up to cup Fiddleford's cheek. This time, he couldn't help himself. Making sure to keep Fidds' arm pinned, Ford dipped his head down and kissed him. He felt fingers on the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, pulling them closer. He'd wanted this for _so long…_

His head was spinning and he _loved it._ He loved the way his whole body felt hot, the way their mouths moved against each other as he kissed him deeper. Everything except the smoothness of his face in his hand and the way it felt when the tips of their tongues touched was so far away. He never thought he would love being unable to think so much.

He hated having to pull away, but he was completely breathless. Their free hands slid off of each other and back onto the ground. They stayed still and silent for a couple of moments apart from the sound of their breathing. Then Ford finally spoke. "Fiddleford… Why would you want to forget this?" His voice was a desperate whisper.

"I… I…" Fiddleford struggled to get words out between breaths. "I di-didn't think you'd return the feeling." he stammered.

Ford almost laughed. Despite all his intelligence, he'd somehow never noticed the way he got when they were close? "Fidds, I've been in love with you since college." He smiled down and let go of his arm.

"Well, how come 'ya never told me?" Fiddleford let out a joyous laugh and grabbed his cheeks with both hands, pulling him closer. There was a pronounced smacking noise as their lips met again. A small hum of pleasure escaped Ford, who wrapped his hands around Fiddleford's back and pulled him into an upright position. He broke the kiss for a moment to rest Fidds' back against the wall before crawling over to him. He positioned himself so that he was kneeling in front of him, straddling one of his outstretched legs. In no time at all they were kissing again, Fiddleford's soft lips brushing his own. Fidds smelled like glass cleaner and graphite. Every movement made his heart flutter and that strangely wonderful burning feeling spread further through his chest.

Fidds' hands didn't drift from their position on his hip and shoulder unless it was to grab his head and pull him more tightly to him for a few seconds. Ford's hands, meanwhile, drifted constantly from his face to his neck to his chest, shifting and rubbing and trying to find the best place to land. They couldn't, every inch of him was perfect. They stayed that way for a while, tongues tangling, bodies rocking. It was loud, it was messy, and it was beautiful.

It was kind of funny, really. He'd been in Gravity Falls so long and he'd encountered so many bizarre creatures, but this was still the strangest thing that had happened in his time here. But that was okay. Anomalies had always been his thing, after all.

When Ford's knees grew sore, he finally stood up, grabbing his partner's hand and helping him to his feet. He was in such a daze and so fixated on his face that he didn't even notice Fiddleford grab the memory gun off the floor with his other hand. Fidds was careful to keep his arms around Stanford but not let the gun touch his back. As Ford pecked at his nose and chin and neck, Fiddleford kept his eyes wide open, carefully looking over his shoulder and twisting the dial without letting his body tense enough to alert Ford. He just couldn't carry on like this knowing that there would be an argument about the gun later. So Ford would forget he had seen the gun at all today. He'd remember everything else, of course, but as far as he'd be concerned, the gun had been destroyed a while back. Fiddleford raised the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Ford's hands tightened around him for a moment, and then he froze. Fiddleford used the opportunity to run over to the desk where they'd been working and toss the gun into one of the drawers, slamming it shut. When he turned back to Ford, he was met with a dumb stare. Ford blinked a few times. "What were you saying?" he asked.

"Just that I love you." Fiddleford answered, melting back into Ford's embrace. Ford stared at the wall for a few more seconds, his mind strangely blank. Wait a second, why was Fiddleford…?

Then Fiddleford kissed him again and all his questions disappeared. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of everything that was Fiddleford, his assistant, his friend, his lover. Ford drew back for a moment, taking Fidds' hand in his. "I love you too, Fidds." he murmured, burying his face in his neck. Fiddleford kissed his ear and smiled.


End file.
